On Summer Eves
by wherefore-suchas
Summary: Babs. Dick. Kara. Wally. Three little words that aren't said exactly.


**On Summer Eves**

**short author's note:** thank you to everyone who's reviewed my stories so far. so nice. I love the BTAS universe, it's refreshing to write. Maybe because it gets me thinking about how great this series was and how exciting it was to see new episodes. Or something. And plus, Wally! Who I really really love. The end.

not mine. never will be. money made from this = zero dollars.

*** * ***

"I'm right though, aren't I?" She widens her big blue eyes and leans in close. Licking her lips practically. The result is slightly terrifying. Super Gamin.

And a nanosecond after I shove her, I remember why I shouldn't. Nerves jangling. A brick wall in a cute little miniskirt. "Oww," I complain.

"Serves you right," she says smugly in this way that, damn my future bone structure, makes me want to shove her again.

"Serves _me_ right, Pinocchio?"

A crinkle appears between her eyebrows. Which are perfectly shaped. I've always wondered. How do you manage when nothing on earth can damage you? Least of all hot wax and a cosmetologist with a sick, twisted soul. "What are you implying?" She purses her lips.

"Obviously, I'm not implying it very well." I poke her gently in the shoulder between each word. "You. Kara. Busybody."

"Anyone ever tell you you're a crappy houseguest, Babs?"

"Technically, it's Jonathan and Martha's house."

"Yeah. Well..." She trails off, sticks out her tongue. "God, I mean, Jon and Martha've been so great and everything, it's just that," she pushes off into the air, doing a fluttery loop-de-loop before settling back on the bed, "I'm bored, y'know. Out here with the cows and the corn and the power and responsibility spiel." She does the last bit in a deepened voice, finger wagging.

"I know."

"I mean, at least you live in Gotham and stuff. You can go...out. At night."

"Not always so great." I point at the white cotton sling. "And I seem to recall hearing the power and responsibility speech a few million times myself."

She waves my objection away. "At least you're not related to the guy. And your arm'll get better soon. Plus, there's the whole Dick Factor to consider."

"The 'Dick Factor'?" I do my best to raise one eyebrow.

"You know, the Boy Wonder himself." Okay, my heart might've just stopped a little. Kara laughs. "You should see your face! Just because I live out in the sticks doesn't mean I don't know what's what. Seriously. The way you guys look at each other you'd have to be blind, deaf and dead _not_ to know."

"What?" I squeak, feeling my face redden. Not just a little either. Genuine, one of a kind, four alarm at least.

Kara doubles up with laughter. "The moodiness is a small price to pay for so much comedy gold."

"Kara," I warn, reaching for her with my good hand.

That's when the phone rings, saving me the trouble of thinking up what to do next. Kara rolls partially over onto her stomach and picks it off the cradle. "Kent residence...oh, hi!...yeah, I'm fine, actually hoping for school to start again if you can believe it...Got it in one. Plus _she's_ a giant pain in the...yeah, she's right here." Kara drops her voice to a hammy whisper. "I think the country disagrees with her. She's so...exactly."

I give her my best dirty look when she passes me the phone.

*** * ***

The syrup sweet voice over the line is enough to make him go cold all over. Dick loses his rhythm and the basketball he's been bouncing against the wall flies wild, scattering magazines from the top of the coffee table. It rolls to a rest in a cluttered corner and he scrambles after it, so focused that she has to repeat her first threat several times, which, she feels, takes all the sting and fun away.

"Wait. Sorry," he's slightly breathless. She finds this adorable, but won't say it. She pictures his hair mussed. She pictures mussing it and her mouth goes a little dry, which is stupid, she allows, but that doesn't mean she can do anything about it. On the other end, he retrieves the ball and flops down on the couch again. "What did you say?"

"I _said_, I'm what exactly?"

"Huh?"

"What Kara said."

"Oh." He laughs. "Um, beautiful? Brilliant? A terrible distraction? Any of these good for you?"

"Nice save, Grayson."

He lets out a little held breath, but slowly so she can't hear. "You oughtta see this place. _Unbelievable_."

She sits crosslegged on Kara's bed, examines her legs. More freckled than usual under the bright, wide open Kansas sunlight. "I'm frightened," she jokes.

"I don't know how anyone can live like this, but Wally swears he's got a system."

"Hmm. Just make sure the apartment doesn't swallow you up or anything. You two having fun?"

"Probably about as much fun as you and Kara."

"I'm _so_ sorry." She shakes her head even though she knows he can't see her.

He bounces the basketball against the wall again. Bounce. Catch. Bounce. Catch. Makes it into a game by twirling it on his fingertips briefly without breaking rhythm, tossing it hand to hand under his leg. "My little Ebenezer Scrooge."

"Wrong season. What's that sound?"

"Beats me. Wally's building makes a lot of weird noises. I think they use teams of hamsters to run the air-conditioning."

"You big liar." She smiles when she says it and he can hear that smile.

"No, really. That would explain the smell."

She laughs, tucks her knees up to her chest, drops the phone, which bounces off the bed and lands on the floor. "Shit." Scrambles after it.

Dick is laughing when she picks it up. "My little butterfingers."

"Why don't you come over here and say that?" she demands, flustered. He finds this adorable, not to mention sexy, all of which makes him feel like a pervert with co-dependency issues.

"I'm biding my time until I see you again."

The way he says it makes her breath catch, which he hears. "How long is break again?" Her voice is shaky but she doesn't care anymore.

*** * ***

And Wally's always there. "Like God," he told me once, which only means that his ego's just about reached critical mass. He hangs up the phone for me in fact, plucking it out of my hand before I even know what's going on.

I jump about a foot. "Jesus."

A pile of papers rises into a funnel shape over the chair beside me, flies off into the far corners of the room and then he's there. Jeans with holes in the knees and a tattered Ramones t-shirt. For Wally, this is the beginning and end of high style. He braces his beat-up Chucks against the coffee table, the bottoms worn almost smooth. He just can't keep himself in sneakers.

"How long were you here?" The whole situation is putting me off balance.

He shrugs. "Not long. I heard someone say 'butterfingers' and I couldn't stay away." He pats his stomach thoughtfully.

"There's more to life than corn syrup and partially hydrogenated oils, or so I've heard," I suggest with a smile. Not that I'd ever change him. Not in a thousand years.

"That Babs on the phone?"

"Yeah." God. Even to myself I sound like a dweeb. I rake my hands back through my hair.

Wally zips away and returns with two sodas. Regular, of course. He cracks the top on his and swallows a few greedy gulps. He tips his can in my direction. "She's got a thing for me, ya know."

"Mm hm."

"She hides it behind a mask of low-level hostility."

"Uh huh."

I open my own soda and take a swallow. "I'd do something about it except that I'm a gentleman and except that my best friend is totally in love with her." I choke, and not just a little bit either. Wally laughs. "C'mon, Dick! You'd have to be blind, deaf and dead _not_ to know. Plus, I happen to be some kind of expert on things like this."

While he's concentrating on draining the last swallows of Coke from the can, I kick his feet away from the table so that soda splashes down the front of his t-shirt. At which time I immediately remember why I shouldn't do things like that to a speedster, especially if his name happens to be Wally West. Just like those papers from before, I'm caught up in a whirlwind, helpless until he dumps me back on the couch, much more nauseous than I started.

Casually, he picks up my discarded basketball, twirls it. His chin juts out in a way that's just begging to be hit, except that I don't want to look like a total idiot when I miss. "I'm right though, aren't I?"

**end.**


End file.
